


At the piano

by Craftswoman



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gay Bar, Getting Back Together, M/M, POV First Person, POV Harry, Piano Bar, Pining Harry, Post-War, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 10:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14423865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftswoman/pseuds/Craftswoman
Summary: "Did you know Malfoy played the piano?""Eh, no, but it's not that surprising. Probably a part of that posh Pure-blood upbringing of his.""Yes, but publicly, and in a muggle establishment. Evidently singing too."





	At the piano

"Do you ever wonder what happened to some people after the war?" Her tone was light and careless, but since I've known Hermione Granger for more than a decade now, I knew there was something behind the casual words.

"You mean, apart from all our friends and practically everybody we know?" I deadpanned.

She shuddered her shoulders and tried to look like she didn't care, which was starting to make me feel uneasy.

"Well, we  _did_ lose contact with a lot of people. Malfoy, for instance, do you ever think about what happened to him?"

"No," I lied. "Why would I think about him?"

"No patricular reason at all." She put her empty coffee cup down and started to move around some scrolls on her desk, still not looking me in the eyes. "It's just that I had lunch with Hannah Abbott the other day, and  _she_ had met Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had accidently stumbled across Malfoy last month."

"And?" I couldn't refrain myself from asking.

She finally met my eyes and smirked. "I thought you didn't care?"

I winced. "But now you've got me hooked on your absolutely fascinating story. What had Justin said?"

She laughed a little. "Did you know Malfoy played the piano?"

"Eh, no, but it's not that surprising. Probably a part of that posh Pure-blood upbringing of his."

"Yes," she frowned, "but publicly, and in a muggle establishment. Evidently singing too."

I gaped. I felt my chin drop and I sat there and gaped. I'm sure it wasn't one of my most intelligent looks, because Hermione started to laugh for real.

"Oh, Harry," she squeaked, wiping her eyes, "you should see your face."

I closed my mouth determinedly. "You've got to be joking."

She shook her head. "Uh-hu. Hannah was curious, so she went to the place Justin told her. And there he was."

I was still nor convinced. "Playing and singing?"

"Yep." She tilted her head and locked eyes with mine. "Do you want to know what he was singing about?"

"Heavens no," I lied for the second time. "But I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

She bit her lower lip an fell silent for some time. "Not necessarily." She handed me a scribbled note. "But here's the name and address to the club, so you can find out for yourself."

I sighed and shoved the piece of paper into my pocket. Hermione just  _had_ to interfere, telling me what to do, how to live, how to think. If she wasn't such a good friend, it would have been rather annoying. Merlin knows, how Ron puts up with it daily. At least, I only have to endure morning coffee with her a couple of times a week at her office. When I get home, I can spread my things around all I want, eat whatever I want, and nobody will care.

That's just it, though. Nobody.

I tried to pretend the Note wasn't burning in my pocket the whole day. When I got home, I discarded my Auror uniform in a big pile on the bedroom floor and went straight to the shower. The warm water eased the tensed muscles and I started to relax. It was more hard work, lots of odd hours and more straining than I ever could imagine when I boyishly dreamed of this line of work. It didn't leave much space for a personal life. At least, that's what I told everyone, including myself.

I put on a pair of old sweatpants and a T-shirt and padded into the kitchen. On the counter was the Note. I still hadn't read it. I opened the fridge to see if there was anything eatable inside, but settled for a bottle of Butterbeer, when something suspiciously green peered back at me from the shelf.

I sat down on one of the stools at the counter, and I unfolded the Note.

The name of a Club, Rainbow-something, a muggle address in Brighton and underneath; the Piano-bar Thursdays at 10 pm, D. Malfoy- _Songs for the Man that got away._

I choked on the beer, and my heart was beating faster. Damn it, after all these years.

It happened to be Thursday. I glanced at the clock on the wall, 9,20.

I was hungry and there wasn't anything in the house. I can go out for a bit to eat, can't I? Not that I needed an excuse or anything. I can do what I want. I ignored the fact that I every other day in the week had ordered Take-away.

I dashed into the bedroom and rapidly changed my clothes.

 

As it was a bit off season, so the club wasn't crowded and most of the patrons gathered along the bar. Twenty or so, couples mostly, were scattered at the tables in front of a small stage. I winched. I didn't want to be recognized. Not that anyone here, at a muggle gay-bar would know the Boy-Who-Lived, but I didn't want  _him_ to know I was there.

I quickly went into the loo and cast a few  _Glamours._ Changed my hair, my eye colour and I transfigured my glasses into contacts. Then I sat down at a table as far from the stage as possible, with a beer and a BLT-sandwich. He was already on.

His long fingers danced easily over the keys, the tune slightly sad. His blond hair looked almost fluorescent in the spotlight. The long fringe fell over his eyes as he bent down over the piano, and his features were just as sharp and pointy as they always been. He was still beautiful.

He started to sing. His voice went straight into the pit of my stomach and I found it hard to breathe.

 

**Your touch, your skin**

**Where do I begin?**

**No Words can explain**

**The way I'm missing you**

**Deny the emptiness**

T **his hole that I'm inside**

**These tears**

**They tell their own story**

 

**Told me not to cry when you were gone**

**But this feeling's overwhelming, it's much to strong**

**Can I lay by your side?**

**Next to you, you**

**And make sure you're alright**

**I'll take care of you**

**I don't want to be here if I can't be with you tonight**

 

**I'm reaching out to you**

**Can you hear my call?**

**This hurt that I've been through**

**I'm missing you, missing you like crazy**

 

I admit. I cowardly ran out of there. I ducked into the nearest dark alley and Apparated home, even if it's not allowed among so many muggles nearby. I didn't care, I just had to get as far away from him as possible.

There is, of course, a background story to all this, these horrifyingly mixed emotions I apparently still felt for him.

In sixth year I was obsessed with him. We were like magnets all through our school-years, but with the repelling backsides pushing us apart. In sixth, the magnets flipped.

I was drawn to him, where ever he went. I hated him, I knew he was up to something, knew he was on the wrong side, and I kept following him around, with my Cloak and my map, never really sure why I was doing it.

 

The following Monday I entered Hermione's office with our usual caffeine choices and a bag of newly baked croissants.

"So, how was it?" she asked as she tried to cool her steaming drink by blowing on it.

"Was what?" I replied, stalling.

"Don't give me that crap, I know you went. Was he any good?" She was impossible, as always.

"I wouldn't know, I only stayed for one song."

"You didn't talk to him?" She furrowed her brow.

"Now, why would I want to do that?" What is it with women, that makes them so hard to deceive.

 

After the war I pretended for a long time that I was alright. I attended Auror-academy, as one of the youngest ever, and I continued dating Ginny Weasley. I kept telling myself, that this was what I wanted, that I was happy, but of course, Ginny wasn't that easy to fool. One night when we were in bed together, making love, she stated, "You're thinking of someone else. You're not with  _me."_ For a moment there I thought she practised  _Legilimency_ on me, but it turned out to be female intuition, which was scary enough as it was. From then on, I was on my own.

 

Thursday came the next week, and even as I'd decided I'll never go there again, it was just like Hogwarts sixth year all over again; I couldn't keep away. I ordered the same beer from the same bartender and sat down at the back of the room. There were more guests than last week, most of them male.

I could watch him more closely this time, since the shock of seeing him had faded somewhat from last week. I watched his face as he sang, ripping my soul out of my body with every word.

 

**Maybe I'm done**

**Maybe it's true**

**Maybe I had one chance**

**And I lost it with you**

**We fell so hard**

**With nothing to lose**

**I'll never love again**

**I'll never love you**

 

**'Couse I gave**

**My heart**

**To a goddamn fool**

**I gave him everything**

**Now there's nothing left for you**

 

I had no choice, I had to leave, or I'd start sobbing aloud among strangers.

 

In the dark hallways of Hogwarts I used to sneak after him, silent like a shadow. He was usually alone that year, without his thugs covering his back. Sometimes he snapped his head back, as if he could sence my presence, hoping to get a glimpse of whomever was behind him in the dark.

One night I followed him down towards the dungeons, through a dark damp corridor, filled with pillars and niches. Suddenly I lost sight of him, and before I could stop it, he threw a tripping-hex in my direction and I fell.

He was over me the next second, fumbling around after my semi-visible body, punching, scratching and tugging at my cloak and robes. Somehow he managed to straddle me, with me on my back, and I felt his hands on my bare skin where my clothes had rode up. They burned with a heat that overwhelmed me, and since I could hide in the fact that I was partly invisible, I yanked his shirt up and let my hands slide over that soft warm skin of his. He shivered and his grip on my waist got tighter. I moaned. And involuntarily, my hips shot up and grinded against his groin. He panted and pushed back. I freed my face from the cloak, and we rotted against each other until we both came with moans and whimpers. Then he quickly got up and headed down to his dorm entrance and I remained laying on the cold stone floor, trying to sort out what had happend. And that was the beginning of our many secret meetings in empty hallways and storage rooms.

Until Death Eaters invaded the school and all hell broke loose.

 

I kept coming back. The bartender started to greet me as one of the regulars and remembered my preferred brand of beer. Sometimes men came up to me, but I smiled politely and told them I wasn't avalible.

The songs were all sad and longing. Some were covers, some what I reckon were his own. The lyrics all ripped me apart, like a _Sectumsempra._

 

**I never feel like this**

 

**I'm used to emptiness in my heart**

 

**And in my arms**

 

**You're not what I'm used to**

 

**You keep me guessing with things that you do**

 

**I hope that thay're true**

 

 

 

**'Cause I'm never gonna heal my past**

 

**If I run every time it starts**

 

**So I need to know, if I'm in this alone**

 

 

 

How could he know exactly how I felt? I always left early.

 

 

 

One evening I was early, oddly enough. I got my usual beer at my usual table, and BAM, there he was, standing with his hand on his hip, smoking a cigarette.

 

"André told me I have a secret admirer, who never stays the whole show, but comes every week. When I asked him to describe him, he said, "Light brown hair and hazel eyes", I asked, "Glasses?" and when he said no, I knew it had to be you."  He sat down opposite me. "Lose the  _Glamours,_ Potter."

 

So, I did. When I put my glasses back on, he quirked a smile. "Imagine you here. How, in Merlins name, did you find me?"

 

"Well, Hermione met Hannah Abbott, who'd seen Justin Fin..." I rambled but he cut me off.

 

"Enough, enough. I get the picture."

 

My palms were sweaty and I wiped them nervously on my jeans. "How come you do this?" I had to ask.

 

He shuddered his shoulders in one elegant move. "Something to do, I guess. Couldn't bare being cooped up at the Manor anymore. I asked André, who owns the place, if I could play one night, and it got to be a regular thing." His grey eyes held mine. "Never thought I'd be found out in a place like this, though."

 

He looked at his wristwatch (a muggle one, in gold) and got up. "I have to get on stage," he said. "Why don't you stay the whole show for once, and we could have a drink together after?"

 

But I couldn't stay. Of course, I couldn't. The next Thursday was the first in months I didn't go. And not the next, either.

 

I was afraid. I was terrified that my memory of him was false, that, what I've been dreaming about for so long, didn't exist. That nothing could bridge the gap between us. Because, when we finally got together and started something, we were torn apart by something so vile as war, and the few times we encountered during that time, we were on opposite sides.

 

It was time to get help. It was time to stop aimlessly subsist in self-pity. It was time for Hermione. So, I went to her and I told her, over several cups of tea, and eventually a bottle of red wine. Everything, including what happened in sixth year, which I hadn't told anyone before, with  my face as red as a beet-root.

 

She was, as always, frighteningly practical. She said, "Harry, what do you have to lose. As it is, you've got nothing. You live a kind of half-life, with no time for your friends and only work. I'm actually surprised that you've been able to find time to go to this bar once a week. That's far more than Ron and I've seen you in a year. That means, that this thing with Malfoy must be important to you. There was a special connection between the two of you from the start. So, go for it, have a drink with him, talk. Who knows, he might make you human again."

 

I opened my mouth to protest but closed it again. She was right, after all. A bit.

 

 

 

The following Thursday I went. I nodded at André behind the bar, as he handed me my beer, but I couldn't make myself smile back at him. I was too nervous. It was only a couple of minutes before ten, but I saw Malfoy make his way through the small crowd, away from the stage towards me. He stopped at my table and pressed his knuckles at the top, very hard until they whitened. Without looking at me he said, with a strained low voice, "Please, Potter, stay tonight."

 

"Alright," I replied, almost choking of the hoarseness in my throat. "But it's not easy, you know, when you sing every word I've ever felt or thought about you." I don't know what possessed me to say that to him, and I felt my ears redden in embarrassment.

 

He lifted his head and our eyes met. "You felt?" he said. He looked rather astonished. "Haven't you realized, that these songs are all for you? How I feel about you? I'm pouring my heart out every week, only for you." He lifted one of his hands, and cupped my chin and tilted my face up a little. "Oh," was all I managed to say, as it dawned on me. Then the world stopped spinning for a while, because he kissed me. The applause and cat-calls from the bar made me surface again, and he threw a quick smile at me on his way to the stage.

 

I stayed the whole show.

 

 

 

I've seen many more of Draco's shows since then. He still plays the sad songs, because they're popular and people request them, but there are others now. Newer. Happier. I like those, but I secretly prefer the old ones. They remind me, how precious what I now have, is. That, I never want to forget.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The quoted lyrics are of course Sam Smith's, Lay me down, Nothing left for you and Say it first.
> 
> I also imagine Draco singing Sam Smith's cover of, Love is a losing game and many more. Thank you, Sam, for lending your voice to my Draco Malfoy. I hope you'll find it was for a good cause.


End file.
